


dagdrøm.

by absolut_svensk



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolut_svensk/pseuds/absolut_svensk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you forgotten me so easily?</p>
            </blockquote>





	dagdrøm.

**Author's Note:**

> Optional musical accompaniment to this is Agalloch's "Where Shade Once Was."

You visited me in my dreams last night. I could hardly make out your face. Sometimes I wonder if I’m beginning to forget the details--if I’m losing you slowly, inch by inch--but I’ll always know your presence. 

(They may take my sight from me, or my memory, but they cannot take my heart, and that’s where I’ve stored you, tucked away with all my other little secrets. In these dark days, it’s become my safe place, my sanctuary.)

The cold stones of my prison were digging into my back, the chains biting at my wrists; I stunk of death and rot and you came for me. You, with your milk-white skin, your golden hair like sunshine, eyes as deep and blue as the sea in places that are far warmer than where they keep me, now. I was so filthy and sullied and you came for me.

I asked if you’d come to rescue me, and you smiled but did not answer. Instead, you told me you would show me something nice.

(And I... I would go anywhere with you, you know; there is nothing I would not do to remain by your side. I have never found a way to tell you this before; _jeg hater deg_ will never be enough.)

You took me to a forest. I don’t remember how you escaped that bleak, stinking pit where I was trapped, but there is a strength in you that I do not possess. Maybe that’s how.

The first thing I notice is that it’s so bright. It blinds me; I cover my eyes and you laugh. Your laughter sounds just like music. I could listen to it forever.

There is no suffering here in this place you’ve brought me to: my strength has been restored to me. You look on in silence, a tiny, beatific smile on your lips, as I stretch heavenward; my once-heavy limbs are leaden no longer. I can move freely, unhindered by pain. For a minute, I wonder if you’ve brought me to Valhalla. We did always promise each other that no matter what, we’d be reunited there--do you remember that? Do you remember the first time we said it, or all the times thereafter?

(I do. I remember everything you say to me--and everything you do not.)

_Kom,_ you instruct, and I follow.

We walk under the cool shade of evergreen trees for some time, you waiting patiently whenever I stop to kick over a rock and pick out the grubs underneath with childish glee. When I pause mid-step to admire the minnows swimming in a brook or listen to the song of a bird twittering away in the treetops, you stop too. For the first time, our eyes meet, and you smile knowingly.

After what seems like an eternity--not that I would mind passing one in your quiet company--we come across a clearing and you stride into it, seemingly well-acquainted with the place; you lie back in the grass and stare up at the sky, at how the setting sun has painted it such lovely colors: pinks, purples, oranges. The clouds reach across the horizon like red fingers, wispy, low.

_Är du lycklig här?_

Your voice is so quiet I almost can’t hear you, and you aren’t looking at me. When I prop myself up to gaze over at you, I find you lying still and quiet, hands folded atop your chest, hair framing your head like a halo.

_Jeg er alltid glad når jeg er med deg_ , I reply softly.

(And for a moment, I consider taking your hand.)

We pass what feels like hours in silence; eventually, the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, then disappears beyond the horizon. I close my eyes, and when I open them, the stars are out.

And you are gone.

\---

The nightmares have stopped--these days, I sleep far better. Abigail often tries to wake me; she touches my face, wipes the sweat from my brow. In my more lucid moments, I’m well-aware of an acute agony in my back; when I move, the wound squelches sickeningly, staining my shirt with blood and pus. She tells me I mustn’t sleep, that if I do, I may not wake up again, but I don’t care any more. I am tired, and sleep holds the promise of seeing you.

_(Hvor er du? Vil du komme?_

_Har du glemt meg?)_

Every day that you do not come, I carve a notch in the wall; I rub my shackles against it until some of the plaster and stone falls away. The tally is so high, Skwisgaar--where are you? Have you forgotten me so easily? If the situations were reversed, I would gladly go to the ends of the earth and back to make my way to your side--will you not do the same for me?

In the meantime, I’ll wait in that blessed place for you. I’ll sleep in the shade, even as the trees fall, one by one.

Maybe when I wake again, you will once more be at my side.

**Author's Note:**

> This was another experimental piece, I guess - I don't typically write in the first person, either. I suppose you could see it as a sort of prequel or companion to "Stillhet" if you so choose.
> 
> Translations of the Swedish/Norwegian, in order of appearance, are:
> 
> Kom - 'come'  
> Är du lycklig här? - 'Are you happy here?'  
> Jeg er alltid glad når jeg er med deg - 'I'm always happy when I'm with you.'  
> Hvor er du? Vil du komme? Har du glemt meg? - Where are you? Will you come? Have you forgotten me?
> 
> Please pardon any mistakes, as this was (as always) unbeta'd, and my Norwegian is only barely passable, ever, lol.


End file.
